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Memento Mori (Exalted/40k)

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BungieONI said:
The Tension of Silence

A short little scene that came to mind @Maugan Ra, showing off our guy's natural precision and talent for silence. Makes sense to me he might have some chances to practice stealth on some of the commissions he's had.
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Very nice! As mentioned in the mechanics post, fanworks like this earn a Personal Milestone, which can be invested as follows:
  • Repurchase an applicable charm (will be listed on the character sheet)
  • Add a unique 'mode' to an existing charm, tailoring or upgrading it in some fashion. Perhaps a charm that allows you to levy curses upon a target could be upgraded to also make it supernaturally obvious to all onlookers what they did to deserve it, for example.
  • Unlock the first dot of an ability currently rated at 0
  • Add an 'intimacy', defining how our protagonist feels about something or someone that has not previously been established by the narrative, either current or in the backstory.
  • Add a 'tertiary' merit, such as an old friend who can be called on (ally merit) or a group of mortal supporters (followers merit) or a cache of currency or other wealth (resources merit).
(Personally I'd recommend getting Last a dot in stealth, which he doesn't currently have, given the themes of the work, but it is up to you)

I am also going to give @MrRageQuit a Personal Milestone in reward for the lore posts provided thus far, sorry it took me so long to actually go back and threadmark them etc.
 
Considering our Finesse, even a single point makes our Stealth pretty impressive.

(Of course, since this is Essence in theory you can do any number of actions with *different* Attributes if you can justify it. Ala, I dunno, doing Embassy (which is sorta bureaucratic diplomatic stuff) either in a kind of straightforward, plunge through the bureaucracy by sheer mental force, or subtly playing the connections and so on it a way that screams finesse, etc, etc.)

But yeah, we'll actually be surprisingly good at being subtle if we decide to actually be subtle. ...and that Stealth point will help.
 
I also figured the Exaltation might have congealed various tidbits learned over the course of an eventful life, plus a tinge of instinctual understanding with the more... esoteric things.
 
BungieONI said:
Our guy learning how to patch himself up after one of the times he's gotten shot lol.
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One thing to note is that a single dot isn't actually, like. Bad.

This being Exalted, a single dot is "average" at something, which is only bad by the raised scales that Exalted operate on.

(Similarly, a Force or 2, his weakest stat, is somewhere between Average (1) and Capable (3), you basically can't be below-average by mortal standards as an Exalt for any of your Attributes.)
 
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Yeah, A single dot in an ability? That's "I have basic proficiency in this skill. You can't call me someone who can do this professionally unless I'm absurdly talented, but I'm not likely to actively fuck it up."

Three dots is "You're the best in the country at this" and five dots is "You're The standard that everyone else is measured by. You have no superiors, only peers". Anything beyond Ability 5 is firmly Plot Device level where someone's Pure Skill exceeds what is physically possible to achieve in that field, like The (as opposed to "A") God of Swordplay's skill in close combat.
 
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    • Scheduled vote count started by Maugan Ra on May 15, 2024 at 3:57 PM, finished with 83 posts and 61 votes.
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    • The Laurent said:
    One thing to note is that a single dot isn't actually, like. Bad.

    This being Exalted, a single dot is "average" at something, which is only bad by the raised scales that Exalted operate on.

    (Similarly, a Force or 2, his weakest stat, is somewhere between Average (1) and Capable (3), you basically can't be below-average by mortal standards as an Exalt for any of your Attributes.)
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    I'm aware, I was just making a funny.
     
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    III - Rich Men, Poor Men, Corpses One and All
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    • [x] Ascend the Spires

    Gunmetal City is too young, too rough and unrefined, to have nobles as the wider Imperium understands the term. There are none here whose wealth comes from wealth alone, whose status has reached such levels as to be self-sustaining and self-justifying. Even the richest children of Gunmetal have made their money, through trade or artifice or careful investment, and it is by that wealth alone that they sit at the apex of the city's hierarchy. Some claim that this makes them superior to the pampered nobles of the distant hives, that they understand work and duty and the value it imparts upon their souls, while others are desperately ashamed of how far short they fall in the eyes of those with real power.

    Personally, you don't see that much difference between the Fanes of your home and the Houses of Sibellus and Tarsus, an opinion that has started more than one duel in the past when you were sufficiently lubricated and insufficiently cautious with your words. The fanes might be closer to corporate cartels than clans bound by blood and name, fighting over production contracts and campaigning for the loyal service of the common folk beneath them, but they still have the wealth and they still have the power and they still grind everyone else into the dirt beneath their immaculately polished boots. To a man like you, that's normally all that matters, but here and now you have to admit the system has another virtue - a fane, unlike a noble house, must remain accessible.

    Guests and clients of Fane Orthlack must call upon their patron at the base of the family's needle, where a grand lobby a hundred metres across waits to receive their enquiries and sift the ore from the slag. The floors are polished marble cut from distant mountains, while the counters are made of imported wood and gilded in precious metals claimed as tribute from the fane's many mining concerns. Even the air is better than what remains outside, cool and crisp in a tantalising hint of the pleasures that wealth and status can bring, kept separate from the smoggy maelstrom outside by pressurised doors not unlike those found on voidships. All of which is to say that you, in your battered grox-leather coat and soot-stained mask, look as out of place as a priest in the pits of Infernus.

    A hundred eyes watch as you emerge from the cycling doors of the entrance foyer and stride across the lobby, uniformed clerks and armoured guards alike tracking your progress with bemused interest and contemptuous disdain. Your boots are leaving dirty smudges on the polished marble floors with every step, and from the corner of your eye you think you see one of the menials sigh and go for a mop. You'd feel sorry for the poor bastard, but odds are he'll have something much worse than a few muddy footprints to deal with in the next few minutes, so maybe you shouldn't be getting ahead of yourself.

    "Good evening, sir," the clerk behind the counter says in a crisp voice as you approach, and credit to her she's managing to keep the majority of her feelings out of her voice, "Welcome to Fane Orthlack. Do you have an appointment?"

    "I'd like to see the director," you reply, hooking your thumbs through the rings on your belt and eyeing up the nearest set of guards. They're big brutes, well fed and well equipped, but you suppose that only makes sense. The Orthlack hold a near monopoly on the supply contracts for most of the planet's magistratum, which makes it easy to equip their staff of former enforcers and part time jackboots to the standard they've become accustomed to.

    "Director Orthlack is a very busy man," the clerk says with a slightly frosty smile, like she doesn't quite understand how you missed the hints that your kind and his aren't ever meant to cross paths and resents being made to explain the obvious, "If you'd like to make an appointment I can take your name and contact details, and the Fane will be in touch."

    You wonder what she's carrying. Everyone in Gunmetal carries, even clerks like this lass, but you don't think there's enough room behind that desk of hers to conceal a proper longarm. A holdout pistol, you expect, probably tucked away in a tailored pocket of her dark emerald robes. You wonder if Orthlack insists that she buy in-house or not.

    "Oh, I reckon he'll want to see me a mite quicker than that," you say, letting the words drawl as you finish your assessment, "on account of how I shot his son in the face not two hours back."

    Your response is silence, at first, a complete shutdown of word and movement as the clerk tries to process what you just said, to make sense of it in even the most limited way. Are you serious? How could you be, when you're saying it so calmly, so openly, and here of all places? But then why would you lie? What should she do? You watch her struggle with these questions for a few long moments, and then elect to show mercy.

    "You want me to make it easy on you?" you ask, and when she dares what might be a nod or at least a disbelieving shake, you draw your pistol in one smooth motion and shoot the nearest guard dead on the spot.

    Pandemonium. Guards shout and draw weapons, clerks scream and duck behind their desks, the few other clients race for the doors or hide as best they can, alarms scream and on and on it goes. You holster your pistol and step away from the desk, out into the centre of the foyer, and watch with some interest as the hired guards of Fane Orthlack pile out of their hidden barracks and break rooms with rifles held ready. Ten then twenty then fifty, all big and flushed with fury, taking cover behind marble pillars and metal statues as servitors unfold from hidden niches to brandish bolters and high-powered las weapons sutured to undead flesh.

    "Freeze, scum!" This and a hundred commands like it are roared by soldiers here and there, snarled through gritted teeth and flecks of spit, varying in detail but united in intent. "Drop the gun and freeze!"

    You smile. You crack your neck. You draw, and men die.

    The Hecuter 9/5 has a fifteen round magazine, and whatever strange alchemy the giant worked upon your favourite weapon that much at least stays true. It takes you just under two seconds to empty the entire thing, one to reload, and then two more to empty it again. That is where you stop, smoke wafting from the barrel and brass casing chiming against the marble floor, to look upon your work. Here, a headless body, cranium and helmet both removed and scattered across the floor. There, a pile of corpses, three soldiers on top of the other, cut down mid stride. Up above, the remnants of a servitor hanging from the frayed ropes of its harness. Blood, everywhere. So much blood.

    You feel fantastic.

    The Last and First is facing down around fifty enforcers, wearing carapace and carrying automatic weapons (a size 2 battle group with average drill) and two servitors armed with heavy bolters. The soldiers are presently in light cover.

    We begin with Join Battle rolls. This determines who goes first and (as a minor houserule I use) how much power they begin with. Notably it does not determine the overall order of combat - the winner goes first, and then they choose who goes next.
    • The Last and First uses Finesse+Ranged Combat, and spends one mote on the ranged combat excellency and another on First Blood Impulse. He rolls fourteen dice, getting (7; 2; 7; 9; 3; 1; 6; 1; 8; 7; 2; 10; 8; 9) nine successes in total, and so starts with power 9, plus one for First Blood Impulse.
    • The soldiers roll their group combat pool of eight dice, getting (4; 4; 6; 3; 8; 9; 10; 8) five successes in total, so they start with power 5
    • The servitors roll their solo combat pool of 6, getting (4; 3; 2; 6; 2; 4) zero successes, and so start without any power.

    The First and Last goes first.
    • He takes an aim action, allowing him to attack with +3 dice at the cost of not moving.
    • On step 1 he declares a decisive attack against the battlegroup, wagering the full 10 power, spends 1m on Blossom of Inevitable Demise and also makes it a piercing attack.
    • He rolls 12 dice and gets (3; 6; 10; 1; 4; 3; 7; 5; 7; 9; 5; 3) for five successes, increased to seven by the accuracy of his weapon.
    • The soldiers have defence 3, raised to 4 by their cover. The Last and First hits with three net successes.
    • The base damage pool is 10 (power wagered) plus 3 (net successes). This makes for thirteen dice, and Last and First spends another mote on Bullet Storm attack to add another 2 (enemy size) to the pool, for fifteen. With double 9s from Blossom of Inevitable Demise, he rolls (3; 8; 10; 4; 3; 3; 6; 9; 9; 6; 5; 4; 7; 5; 10) for ten damage, increased to twelve by the damage of the weapon.
    • Normally this would be reduced by soak, but a piercing attack reduces soak by two, and that is the normal soak value of these soldiers. They take twelve levels of damage, which is the exact number they have. The fifty mortal soldiers all die.
    • As a free reflexive action he uses Death is Inevitable to kill one of the servitors.

    Combat effectively ends there. Although there is one servitor remaining, it has zero power and must therefore spend a round building some up with a withering attack (to be covered in more detail in a future combat) before it can hurt you, and will be killed passively on the next round.

    Last spent a total of four motes in that one round. At the end of it, he regains three - one as a base refresh, one for inflicting at least a level of damage, and one for terrifying the surrounding civilians.

    It's hard to put into words, but there is something about the death, something about the chamber full of maimed and broken corpses that makes your pulse race and your soul sing with joy. It is as though you were made for this, as if your whole being was forged for the singular purpose of bringing death and terror and now rejoices at its purpose. Given what you remember of the pale giant, his words and his bearing, perhaps that is exactly it. Perhaps he has made a weapon of you, and now all you do is live to be used.

    You holster your gun once more and make your way forwards, stepping over broken corpses and the shattered craters that a few panicked salvos of return fire left in the ground around you. Not one bullet hit you, not one shot even came close, and where once you would have called that a miracle and offered praise to the Emperor upon his throne, now you are left to wonder just who or what it is that you struck your bargain with for power. You'll have to find that out sooner or later, but that is a problem for tomorrow. Right now, the highest and wealthiest scion of Gunmetal City awaits, just beyond these gilded doors.

    You look back over your shoulder and see the clerks at the reception desk, all of them white faced and terrified, staring at you like death itself has come to walk among them. They flinch at your regard, but not one of them moves, frozen in place like prey before the hunter.

    "Penthouse suite, darling," you drawl, gesturing to the elevator door, "If you'd be so kind."

    She nods shakily, not needing anything as crass as words to grasp the likely alternative, and with a musical chime the door before you opens wide. You step into the narrow lift beyond and let the doors close on the scene of carnage left in your wake, feeling the faint rumble as the lift begins to ascend. A faint tune begins playing from hidden speakers, some stirring piece of military-industrial triumph, and with a faint hum you tap your foot along to the rhythm.

    There's a mirror on the opposite wall, and with a faint start you realise that there's an edge to your reflection that you did not expect. You look sharper, somehow, leaner and hungrier, and more than that there is a faint corona of something you cannot quite identify hanging around your limbs and chest. It almost looks like a heat haze, the kind of thing you see rising from the great cauldrons of molten metal in the great foundries beyond, and you wonder at the vibrancy of it. Is that what you are now, some great foundry of death, a mechanism that turns men into corpses and burns just as hot?

    You have no time to contemplate the matter, for with a rasping shriek the lift compartment grinds to a halt, suspended between floors. You sigh, disappointed despite the inevitability, and using the gilded railings as steps clamber your way up to the roof and force open the maintenance hatch you find waiting there. Beyond there is nothing but howling darkness and the rattle of endless chains, winds hot and cold warring with each other as they whip up a storm around your would-be-prison, and with them the rumble of other lifts rising and falling in the shadows. You made it about halfway up before someone thought to cut your ascent, it seems, and while you'd have liked to get the whole way it seems churlish to complain.

    Timing your movements carefully, you bend at the knees and wait… then leap into the void, long coat billowing in the wind, and land like a raptor atop the roof of another steadily rising carriage. Someone shouts in confusion and alarm in the carriage below, but you pay no heed to their cries, already eying the distance to the maintenance hatch you can see three floors above, and from there to the winch mechanism back in the centre of the shaft.

    Normally, this would require an athletics roll. However, Last and First has the charm Monkey Leap Technique, which allows him to make these jumps without a roll.

    When at last you reach the apex of the shaft and prise open the door you find there, you find yourself emerging into a place of near impossible luxury. The floors are made of wood, the air is so clean it hurts, and one entire wall is covered by the slow cascade of a waterfall, pure and clear. Compared to such luxury the paintings on the walls hardly seem to register, nor does the state of the art shuttle waiting on the landing pad beyond the window. Yet you cannot bring yourself to care about any of them, because as you emerge from the lift shaft it is to see an elderly man in pale green robes being hustled down the hall by a pair of scarred and deadly killers, all of whom freeze at the sight of you.

    "Director Orthlack, I presume?" You ask, bringing the shadows with you as you emerge from the lift and set foot upon the pristine wooden floorboards. Beyond the window and the waiting shuttle you can see all of Gunmetal City laid out beneath your feet, a roiling vista of flames and metal fit to stir feeling from even your jaded excuse for a heart, but you keep your eyes on the man in front of you.

    "I am," the elderly man says, waving off his bodyguards with a frown. They're vicious looking sorts, you have to admit, their stained and broken skin set through with the delicate silver tracery of advanced neural augmentations, like veins of precious metal waiting to be clawed out. Each has a hand near their gun, and each of their guns is a work of art as much as the killer's craft, but neither of them draw just yet. Their master hasn't finished speaking. "And you, gunslinger? Whoever your client is, you must realise they sent you here to die. Orthlack stands highest among the fanes, and if our might is not enough, House Hax will retaliate against any who strike at its clients. You'll not survive this mistake for long, but if you see reason, we could both yet turn a profit here today."

    You smile thinly, looking the patriarch over. He's not actually as old as you took him to be at first glance, merely distinguished with flecks of soot black and ashen grey in his dark hair, and his pale eyes are certainly piercing in their intensity, yet it isn't that which interests you. There is, you think, more here than most could see.

    The Last and First is rolling Finesse plus Awareness to perform a read intentions action here, with the basic goal of determining Director Orthlack's virtues. He gets double 8s on this roll from Wickedness Unveiling Method, and the difficulty is the aristocrat's resolve of 3.

    He rolls eight dice and gets (7; 5; 6; 1; 8; 8; 8; 2) for a total of seven successes. He learns that Director Orthlack has a major virtue of Ambition and a minor virtue of discipline - he is motivated by his desire to increase his family's standing and values those who act in controlled and consistent manners, as opposed to the impulsive or disorganised.

    As per Wickedness Unveiling Method, he then spends two motes to learn how many people Director Orthlack has killed, and who the last person was.

    As Last and First has four extra successes over the roll that he needs, he can buy bonus effects. He spends one success to learn Orthlack's current goals for the scene (bargain for his life or escape), and two more to determine his intimacy towards Marius Hax (a minor tie of loyalty to a patron). He spends one success on instilling a minor tie of fear to himself, recouping a mote through Cruel Banquet.

    "Afraid you're mistaken, good sir," you drawl, studying him with eyes no longer entirely mortal, "it wasn't coin or contract that brought me here."

    The Director's eyes narrow and he draws himself up, and isn't that interesting. He's not afraid of you, not in the direct sense, he knows you are dangerous but what he really fears - what he resents - is the obstacle you pose. You are a stone in the path of his ambition, and for all that he holds himself with a duelist's perfect poise he cannot hide how much that bothers him.

    "Vendetta, then?" Orthlack says, a weary kind of contempt in his voice, "Very well then. Death is cheap in Gunmetal, you know this better than most - whatever wrong my family and I have done you, coin and service will buy you greater recompense than blood ever could. Spit it out, then. I'm a busy man."

    His hands are wet with blood. He doesn't realise it, cannot even see the truth of it, but you can. You look at those smooth and polished hands and you see the shadows of all the lives they have taken, the stench of all the death they yet bear.

    "You've killed forty three people in your life, Director," you say in a low voice, almost conversational, "the last of which was your own nephew. Those hounds by your side held him in the chair while you worked him over with the sanding belt. I'm guessing you didn't care for the tattoos he'd gone and gotten, but I have to wonder - did he beg, at the end? Did you think nobody was listening?"

    And there it is. There is the fear, the doubt, the slow creeping realisation that this isn't about who he is or the wealth and power at his command. You can feel it creeping its way past Orthlack's reserve and lodging itself deep in his heart, and it is a beautiful thing indeed.

    "...what are you?" The words are less said than murmured, a prayer from a man who has just discovered how small he is after all.

    "I'm the Last, and the First, Gunslinger of Atlantia," you say, and your words are smoke and fire and the promise of death brought to the deserving. "And in the name of that dream I have come to pass judgement on you and yours. Now. Will you stand? Or will you die with a bullet in your spine?"

    "Wait!" Orthlack cries, his voice cracked as he raises a pale hand, "Just… just hold on. There are other ways. We can still… we can still make this right. Forty three lives, you said? You've taken more than that today, so there must be a way to make it worthwhile, to balance the scales. I've wealth, power, access to more - I can save ten lives for every one I've taken, or get you close to people worse than I, or… well, something. Anything! Just tell me what you want from me!"

    Article:
    Director Orthlack, master of Fane Orthlack, stands before you begging for his life. What sentence will you pass?

    [ ] Death
    Kill him here, and those who stand with him. It is what you came here to do, and you can question his corpse for any information in the aftermath.

    [ ] Service
    Fane Orthlack counts House Hax as their patrons, and you have business with their patriarch. The Director will tell you all he knows, and then he will get you close enough to fulfil your end of the deal.

    [ ] Restitution
    - [ ] Specify What Kind (Write in)
    He isn't wrong, for all his sins; Director Orthlack can do more for the people of Gunmetal and the cause of justice alive than dead. Name a price for his life, and see that he fulfils it.

    Note that both 'Service' and 'Restitution' will involve social influence rolls, while 'Death' will start a combat. Remember that you can provide a short stunt as a subvote in order to grant Last and First a two-dice bonus on the next relevant roll.
     
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    • The question is, do we have any way of actually enforcing any Restitution out of this? Being scared of someone hasn't stopped people from worming out of it if that would get in their way, and Ambition Major is pretty hard to cause problems with.
     
    We're a gunslinger, he's a CEO. The fight is currently on our terms, with our weapon of choice. His is negotiation. Why would we give him the advantage?

    Death, and let's make sure he stays here by shooting him first, or at the very least go for a kneecap or the pilot of his escape ride as an opening move, so that his fear might fuel us.
     
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    Vague Stunt Idea for Death:

    "Stand," the Last and First said, and then shot him in one knee. "Stand," he said, and shot him in the other kneecap. "You've demanded more from those you've hurt, with less cause. Stand, though your body is broken, stand on your two feet, oh honored Fane. Stand and die with a gun in your hand."
     
    Service, maybe? With the stunt of shooting one of his bodyguards impossibly fast to help winnow out thoughts of treachery? Otherwise, Death is pretty compelling here.
     
    Remember Curze, you know the Night Haunter? Dude put the fear of god in his planet to "create" a society "free" of crime but the moment he turned his back they got back to they usual M.O, thus I think death is the best option.
     
    Well damn. I can't call that even a fight scene, but instead just a straight up execution. Well, whatever it was it was amazing regardless. I'm quite happy to have hopped into an Exalted quest where the focus of our MC is just killing our enemies dead. Its quite refreshing. Even more so with the quality of writing that we have here.

    And speaking of killing: we should totally do more of it here. The worm has finally glimpsed what it is facing, and is trying to squirm free. Clean up here so that those better than us have a chance for a life that is more than just murder. Because while there will almost certainly be a time in the future when sparing someone will be the righteous and winning move, I don't think its either of those here and now.
     
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